Mr Daniels and Me
by collegesweetheart
Summary: Jordan is having issues, stemming from her love for a Mr. Jack Daniels. This is a deviation from my normal WJ pairing... it's NJ the only other suitable combo... death to GJshippers! P. Takes place post season finale, cos aus tv sucks... rated T for alcoh
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys... this here is the result of a challenge issued by Im Perfectly Imperfect. I'm actually a Woody lover, but i also can't resist a challenge..._

_

* * *

Shit._ Jordan woke up to the sound of her alarm clock beeping faintly from her bedside. She lifted her head, wincing slightly as the leather of her couch peeled off from the side of her face. She squinted at the black screen of the television in front of her, a slight hum indicating that the DVD she had been watching the night before had never been turned off. Reaching for the remote that lay next to the almost empty bottle of Jacks, she stabbed at a couple of buttons until a whir and click told her she had successfully turned off the tv. _Shit._ Jordan woke up to the sound of her alarm clock beeping faintly from her bedside. She lifted her head, wincing slightly as the leather of her couch peeled off from the side of her face. She squinted at the black screen of the television in front of her, a slight hum indicating that the DVD she had been watching the night before had never been turned off. Reaching for the remote that lay next to the almost empty bottle of Jacks, she stabbed at a couple of buttons until a whir and click told her she had successfully turned off the tv. 

Hauling herself into the upright position, Jordan groaned slightly as she felt her shrunken brain shift slightly in her head, and her fuzzy tongue cried out for water. The incessant beeping of her alarm prodded her into action, and she gasped at the time. 8.10am. What time did she start work? 8.30. _Shit_. She sluggishly sprung into action, grabbing a couple of asprin and downing a litre of water. Pulling on some suitable work clothes, Jordan snatched the car keys and bag that sat at the end of her kitchen bench, and hurried out the door.

On the floor of her recently vacated apartment sat a copy of _The Princess Bride_ on DVD, and on top of a narrow paper bag, the almost empty bottle of Jacks.

* * *

_Okay okay, i know it's short, but i'm in the middle of Uni exams... more to come over the weekend, i promise._

_danke._

_Cass._


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so it's Thursday and my exam is tomorrow and I haven't studied… meh. I heard the kinks earlier. So.

Btw, my apologies about the first chapter with the repetition of a couple of sentences. I have no idea how that happened.

thanks to everybody who reviewed, you know i love it. i don't know german, but i do know french! lol.

Au revoir mes amis!

* * *

Stepping out of the elevator at the morgue, Jordan almost bumped into a swiftly moving solid mass. Shifting the coffee she held in her hand out of the way, she looked up and into the face of the one person she had been hoping to avoid. 

"Dr. Cavanaugh." Woody acknowledged her presence with a sharp nod and a cursory greeting. His eyes flicked across hers, before he stepped around her and into the elevator, holding a dark blue paper file in front of him, and looking up at the top of the doors in an attempt to avoid Jordan's eyes. By the time the doors had shut, it felt like Jordan had stood in the same position for hours. She mentally reminded herself to shut her mouth, and was thankful for the fact that she still wore her mother's oversize sunglasses to disguise her hangover.

_Well that went well_, the little voice inside her head said. _You see the guy you like and act like a teenager_. But something else was niggling her as she regained her composure and strode, head down, to her office. And for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was.

* * *

"My, my, Jordan Cavanaugh doing paperwork voluntarily. I never thought I'd see the day." Jordan looked up at the man standing in the doorway. 

"Garret. Hi." The older man looked strangely at her, scrutinizing her.

"Jordan, I've seen you hungover a few times in my life, but I think that this time is up there amongst the best."

"Thanks for that Garret, you sure know how to make a girl feel special."

"I'm serious. You look like you've been up all night. Are you sure you're okay to work?"

"I'm fine. I just need some time to myself. But I'd still like to be busy. Have you got anything for me?"

Garret sighed and shifted from where he had been leaning up against the doorframe. She wasn't fine, he knew it. Not by a long shot. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he leaned into her office and threw a dark blue file onto her desk, watching it skid across the piles of paper already cluttering it. Garret closed his eyes, a flash of mental pain reminding him that this would probably be as close as Jordan would get to catching up on the paperwork that made their jobs hell. Opening his eyes again, Garret saw Jordan was already absorbed in her new case. As he turned to leave, he fired one last parting shot.

"And you'd better not turn up like this again tomorrow, or I might just tell Dr. Stiles on you."

* * *

Yeah yeah, another short one, and no real drama either. I just felt like I needed to set the scene a little. 

-Cass.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey all. I'm sorry it took me so long to update, but I'm kinda dunning out of steam on this story already, help! And about the skimpy (I dunno what american's call em, but skimpy is the term over here in aus.), she is modelled on a skimpy I once worked with. Kinda tacky, but a lovely woman. I'm sorry if this doesn't sound much like Jordan, but anyways… oh, and thanks everyone for the reviews!

Disclaimer: (oops, I've forgotten this so far) Don't own it. I do own the Duck and Goose, Mel, Jon, Nate and everyone else you don't recognise.

* * *

That night, after yet another uneventful day, Jordan found herself stopping her battered old el Camino outside the Duck and Goose, an old pub that had once been run by a friend of her father's. The pub had long since changed hands, but now that she could no longer face the Pogue, it had become one of Jordan's regular haunts. 

Opening the door, Jordan walked through to the tinkle of a small bell. A visitor glancing at the weathered wooden floorboards and rippled glass windows of the Duck and Goose could have been forgiven for thinking that this small corner pub was well-loved, and frequented by many respectable men at the end of an honest days work. Jordan had long since lost this misconception. In truth, the Duck and Goose stank of stale tobacco and perspiration, and in the far corner near the dukebox the wallpaper retained a faded yellow urine stain. Miserable men, old, young and in between, littered bar stools and booths around the room. Serving at the bar, next to Jon, the owner, stood a middle-aged woman, wearing only lacy blue lingerie and a pair of knee-high black lace-up boots. Her toned stomach and divertingly pretty face were offset by saggy breasts and the cellulite on her thighs. The skimpy, who Jordan now knew as Mel, looked up from the man she was serving and gave Jordan a fleeting grin.

"Hey, schweetheart, howzabout you let me buy youse a drink?" One of the middle-aged men lolled about precariously on his bar stool as he eyed Jordan.

"Nate, you know well enough to leave Jordan alone." Mel admonished the man. He lowered his head and looked at the woman sheepishly. She turned her attention back to the new arrival. "Hey sweetie. How was today?" Jordan grimaced her response and Mel chuckled sadly, "that bad, huh? What'd the boy scout do this time?" Mel was one of the few people who Jordan talked to about Woody. Or at least, one of the few people she talked to _honestly_ about Woody. As Mel set a tumbler down in front of Jordan and poured an inch of whisky in, Jordan began to chuckle. Mel looked up in surprise, only to start to become alarmed as Jordan's laughter grew. Soon enough, the brunette was laughing so hard the tears were streaming down her face, and she clutched her tumbler so hard it seemed it might break. However, after a short moment Jordan took a large gulp of her drink and the tears changed from those of laughter to violent sobs.

"Jordan, Jordan, what's wrong sweetie?" The look of concern on the skimpy's face would almost have been comical were it not for the situation.

"I… have… absolutely… no idea…" Jordan managed to choke out between sobs. She took another large swig of whisky and swallowed, closing her eyes momentarily and mentally counting to ten. As she managed to get some form of control over herself, she turned back to Mel and said "I love him. And I hate him. But… I love him. He's my best friend. _Was_ my best friend." She nursed her glass and stared miserably into the dregs at the bottom. "I bumped into him in the elevator today. Literally. Almost spilt my coffee all over him. And I looked like crap, because I'd been up all night, crying and drinking. And do you know what he said to me? "Good Morning, Dr. Cavanaugh."" Mel winced and refilled Jordan's glass. "No "Jordan", no "watch where you're going", no "Jo, you look like hell." Nothing. Mel, you have no idea what I'd give to here him tell me "Jo, you look like hell.""

"Oh honey. You know what I think you need?"

"Some bourbon and a bottle of Lortab?" was the wry reply.

"Don't even joke about that Jordan. You need a hot bath, a cup of tea and a good book."

"I think I'm a bit past the 'hot bath' stage here."

Mel was about to reply when Jon called her over to serve a sleazy looking young man seated along the back of the bar.

"I'll be right back sweetie, you just drink your whisky."

"Don't worry Mel, I'm not going anywhere."

Five minutes later, however, Jordan had changed her mind. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a twenty and slapped in onto the bar, calling out to Jon "bottle of Jacks please!". Mel excused herself from her customer and came back across to where her only female customer stood waiting for her order.

"Jordan, what are you doing?"

"Don't worry Mel, I'm going home. I just need something to help me sleep is all."

"Jordan…" Mel's voice carried a warning tone, as if she didn't trust what Jordan was saying.

"I promise Mel, I'm going straight home," she lied.

* * *

At 10:14 pm, Woodrow Hoyt was sitting bolt upright on his sofa, staring absentmindedly at the television screen in front of him. His mind, which had been preoccupied with the constant re-run of the look on a certain Boston Medical Examiner's face that morning, was brought out of it's silent reverie by a loud rapping on his door, a dull thud and a muffled expletive. 

"Jordan?" Another expletive and the sounds of a fast stagger down the stairs. "Jordan, is that you?" all activity outside his door ceased immediately. Woody quickly stood up and moved to his door. Pressing his ear to the door he could here rough breathing and the occasional creak of the old stairs. He was about to give up, when he heard a faint sound.

"Woody, someone was following me."

Momentarily concern crossed the detective's brow, but as soon as it had arrived, it vanished. He opened his door and looked out to see Jordan resting her forehead against the cool painted wall of the landing.

"Jordan, what are you doing here? Go home."

"There was a guy near my car Woody. So I came back up."

"Jordan, did it… _back up_?" He let an irritated breath whistle between his teeth.

"Yeah," she said sheepishly, attempting to explain, "I came here to talk to you. But I, I couldn't."

"You're drunk." His accusation caused a brief look of pain to cross her face.

"No, I just had a bit…" She followed his gaze that was pointedly focused on the almost-empty bottle of Jacks that dangled from her hand. She giggled self-consciously. "Okay, maybe a bit."

"Jordan, go home. I don't have time for this. I'm tired of your games. I'm tired of you." The detective's face was set as hard as steel.

"But Woody, there was a guy, near my… my… y'know… the thing downstairs. Car." The detective's heart began to melt as he saw the puzzled look on Jordan's face. But he straightened himself up and narrowed his eyes at her, his voice becoming dangerously quiet as he surveyed the wreckage of the woman in front of him.

"Dr. Cavanaugh, has it _ever_ occurred to you that the world does not revolve around you. I'm done with you, I thought I had made that perfectly clear. Now if you don't mind, I have work in the morning." At the shell-shocked look on the woman's face, his heart once again softened momentarily. "Go home, Jordan. Just, go." With that, he shut and bolted his door, leaving the drunken woman's heart to break.


	4. Chapter 4

I know it's short again, but i just can't seem to churn out anything longer! I'm sorry it's taken so long for this to go up. Love you all.

Oh, and Jordan isn't going to get kidnapped. While i do like the idea, I'm struggling with this story already. Sorry peeps!

* * *

Head spinning, ears ringing and eyes fighting to stay from closing, Jordan did what any self-respecting drunkard would do. She stumbled back down the stairs, for the second time that night, and empty bottle of Jacks in hand muttered threats to any would-be attackers. Fumbling in her pockets for her keys, Jordan spat out another curse when they fell to the floor beside the driver's side door of the el Camino.

Leaning down to fetch them from where they lay, the blood rushed her ears and she missed the sound of glass crunching underfoot as someone approached from behind her.

"Those pesky keys. So difficult to pick up ain't they?" Jordan gasped at the sound of a deep, raspy voice. Without turning, she shocked her brain back into some vague semblance of sobriety.

"Leave me alone. I'm a medical examiner with the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Trust me buddy, mess with me and there'll be big trouble."

"A _doctor_ hey. A little girly like you? Damn. The pretty ones all seem to have smarts now."

"I have a gun." Okay, so that last part had been a lie. But surely it was worth a shot?

"_Really?_ And where would that be?" A rough hand rested on her high. "I sure am interested to find out where you keep it, _doc_."

"Stop it. Now. Please." What had initially started as a command ended with a plea. Through her drunken haze, Jordan felt herself start to tremble, the heat of the stranger's body sickening her.

"But why baby, the party's just getting started." His hand drifted from her hip to her ribs, and she felt his fingers bruising the side of her body. His free hand found the back of her neck and squeezed, causing her shoulders to rise and her body to react involuntarily.

It was official. She was now terrified. So Jordan lurched her body forward violently, as if she was about to vomit, grabbed her keys from the ground and swung her body up, flinging her arm wide and using her keys to slash across her attacker's eyes.

"SHIT!" The man screamed, slapping one hand over his eyes in pain, and making a grab for her arm with the other. "You little bitch! You're gonna pay for that so bad."

_RUN!_ The voice in her head screamed. _Run, Jordan. Go. Now. Woody's apartment._ But the voice fell into oblivion and Jordan sank against the side of her car in terror, watching like a child as the tall, solid man stumbled towards her. It was only a strangled cry that reminded her this was reality. The foreign-sounding whimper in her throat kicked her brain back into action and Jordan found herself doing one of the few things she excelled at. She stood and quickly moved to a nearby street tree and called back to her blinded assailant.

"What's wrong brainiac? Can't catch the little girl?" If the situation hadn't been so dire, Jordan would have smirked at the look on his face. Rage barged across his features and spittle flew from his lips as he snarled at her, still blind, flinging punches at the empty space between them.

"You've got a smart mouth, doc. You better watch yourself and what you say to me. It's quite simple see, nature made me bigger, so I'm thinking that'd make me the boss." He was still lumbering in the same direction as Jordan ducked around him and stuck her keys in the lock, flinging her aching body into her wreck of a car. Without even thinking, Jordan pushed her key into the ignition and sped off into the dark safety of the night. It was only on autopilot that she wound up home, ripping her clothes off as soon as she was through her doorway and standing under the shower until the water ran cold, trying desperately to stop the burning sensation from her attacker's touch.


End file.
